


254 - A Cute Meet in a Haunted Warehouse

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: An original fic based on this prompt. Street art. Haunted warehouses. Midnight meetings.





	254 - A Cute Meet in a Haunted Warehouse

The old warehouse had not grown any more warm or less scary once it had been converted into a bar. They could build all the small makeshift stages for shitty guitar bands they wanted, in the early hours of the morning, it still felt like a portal to hell. They could cover the squeaking floorboards with second-hand antique rugs. They could cover bare wood and flaking gyprock with posters and fairy lights. None of it mattered. At 3 am on a Wednesday morning, it felt just as cold as it had before the hipsters moved in.

The renovation subscribed to the ill-advised motto of style over substance. Therefore, it was still easy to 'break in.' Really, there was no need to break anything. You could crawl beneath the building, through open weatherboard panelling, and up through a trap door in a room that was now used for storage. 

You poked around the boxes for a bit. Straws, jars of cheap drink garnishes, paper towel. Nothing interesting.

As you walked through the bar, the cans of paint in your bag rattled against each other. The familiar sound was the only comforting thing about the moment.

The stage had been erected under your first mural. They'd painted over it in a thick, cheap black paint though. You considered the location, but figured it was a waste. They'd just erase it again.

Between the bar's main entrance and main room was a thin hallway. They'd built it new and you wondered what the space behind the wall was being used for. You'd have to investigate that later, because the hallway wall, all smooth and new, was the perfect canvas.

Kneeling on the ground, your bag in front of you as you searched for the royal blue, you heard the sound. If someone had asked, you couldn't even begin to describe it. It was just… a sound… It was organic though. It wasn't the twisted structure of the warehouse holding strong against the whistling wind outside. It wasn't the electricity crackling through old wiring to new lights. It wasn't falling boxes or mouse traps springing together, killing little things. It was human. Or animal. You hoped.

Frozen in place, hidden in the shadowed hallway, you watched a small light appear from behind the bar. It had just flicked on out of nowhere, but you logically assumed it belonged to a person that had come from the office with its doorway adjacent to the bar. 

Did the person have a right to be in the warehouse, or like you, had they broken in? 

The light danced around for a bit, as if the person was getting their bearings, then it settled on the stage. It moved towards the structure and the closer it got, the more you could see the source of the light. It was a guy dressed all in black. He had a small torch in his hands, the battery seemingly dying. You watched him stare at the stage. It was too dark to read his expression.

Suddenly, the sound of a car door slamming made the guy jump and you yelp. As you reacted, you dropped the can of paint in your hand. It rolled down the hallway and across the floor of the club. The guy looked at you and you looked at him. Slowly, you stood up.

"Ah… hi…" you said in a whisper.

It was definitely a car door because there was definitely someone unlocking the front of the club. You looked behind you, towards that general direction, trying to figure out what you should do.

When you turned back around, you watched the guy walk to your paint and pick it up casually. He came to stand in front of you, where he handed it over.

"Hi," he replied. "This yours?"

"Yeah. Um… I… need to go,"

"You ain't meant to be in here either?" he asked you with a smirk.

The front door opened. Quickly swinging your bag over your shoulder, you grabbed the guy's hand and pulled him through the club. If he was caught, he might snitch. Better to take him with. You were close to the storeroom, to sweet escape, when you both stopped dead in your tracks. Voices. They were bouncing off the walls and it was impossible to determine where they were coming from. The storeroom was near the rear fire exit by the carpark. It was a risk. Too much of a risk; you'd been giving your last polite warning by the cops for doing shit like that.

His hand still holding yours, the guy with the torch made the decision for you both, pulling you back into the main space and quickly ducking behind the bar and into the room he'd come from.

"We can't get out through here," you whispered.

"I know. But we can hide. You got a better idea, Picasso?"

No.

You watched him rearrange a few boxes into an inconspicuous tower. From the door, nothing looked out of place. He jumped behind it then held his hands out to you. Sitting side by side, backs to the wall, fronts to the tower and door, you both waited.

Willing your ears to pick up more sounds than you normally or humanly could, you listened. There were at least two people, maybe three. Security, possibly. You couldn't make out the topic of conversation. Had they been tipped off about one of you? Did checks like that just happen since the bar opened? How long would they stay guarding the exits like a three-headed dog watching out for the Philospher’s stone? 

"What were you doing in here anyway?" you asked the guy.

He turned his face to yours, keeping his head pressed back on the wall. He smiled and shrugged.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss is about," he answered.

"Fuss about the club?"

"Yeah. I'm in a band, see. We're quite good too. Been playing 'round the place. Not like we're sixteen anymore, you know? But this place just won't book us. Just wanted to see what it's like. Why they think they're better than us," he said. His voice wasn't hiding hurt or bitterness. He was genuinely curious.

A beam of light passed over your heads. You should have shut the door, but maybe that would just invite them to check the room. An open door surely isn't suspicious. Nobody hides in an open room. Regardless, you and the boy in the band stayed quiet until the light was gone and the voices grew a little more distant.

"Guess that's a good reason to break into a bar," you told him.

"Doesn't matter anyway. Our first record is comin' out soon. In September. They'll be sorry then. Anyway. You in here to tear the joint up? Gonna draw dicks all over it?"

You snorted and quickly covered your nose and mouth from making any more sound. The guy grinned and shook his head.

"No!" you whispered harshly. "I'm not here to draw dicks on anything. Jeez. What are you? Fourteen?" 

"Twenty-one," he replied quickly. Proudly.

"Could've fooled me… I paint murals. Before this was a bar, it was my favourite place. Had a big one where they've built the stage," you told him.

"That big cat one?!"

"Yeah… well, no. It was a fox, but yeah. You saw it?"

"Me and my mates used to cut school and get the bus up here 'cause there was a lad 'round the corner that would sell us weed for cheap. We'd come here and smoke. Good place for that. Last year, just for the memories, you know, we drove up here and came in, just to check it out. Saw the cat-fox then. Took a photo on my phone and everything. That's real sad it's gone," he told you.

Every time you met someone that had seen your art before knowing of your existence, you got a little bit freaked out. A little bit spacey. It was always a beautiful feeling though. A high.

"Thanks. Thank you. Um… Yeah, so, I was gonna do something else tonight. But… now I'm here,"

"Now you're here," he repeated with a nod. "Could be worse,"

"How?"

"Could be stuck behind all this stuff with someone dead horrible," he said with a sly smirk.

"Mmm. I could. That would just be awful. I'm very lucky to have you," you agreed in a mocking tone.

"You are. What's ya name? I'm Van,"

"Y/N,"

"Y/N," he repeated to himself, whispering. He bumped his shoulder against yours. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. I reckon, if we're patient, you can still do your art,"

"I just want to get out here without being caught," you told him.

"They won't stay all night. An hour max. I'd bet on it."

You smiled to yourself. Van's optimism was a rare and beautiful thing.

"Well, I'll stay until my legs get cramped," you said, pulling them close to your chest for emphasis. There wasn't enough room to spread them out flat. "Then I'm figuring out how to get out."

Van nodded. The waiting began.

…

After twenty minutes of silent, painful hiding, you began to get restless. Van watched you try to fold your legs into a comfortable position. Fold. Unfold. Twist. Fold. Unfold. Fold. Twist. Sigh in annoyance.

"I can't hear them anymore," he whispered.

You stopped moving about to listen.

"Me either,"

"I'll check," Van said happily, standing and climbing over the boxes.

You got on your knees and watched him over his tower. He tiptoed to the door, then stuck his head out slowly. When nothing freaked him out, he crouched down and crawled out to the bar, then sat up to peak over. Still nothing, and he continued out of sight. Chewing your lip, you sat back down and waited for him to return.

Your legs were crossed, arms resting on them, elbows digging into the sides of your thighs. In your open-palmed hands, your head was sitting, all the weight of it and your back being supported by your arms. Eyes closed, you almost drifted off.

A loud bang on the tower made you screech and jump. Van started to laugh.

"Were you sleeping? Only gone a minute!"

You stood up and dusted yourself off. He looked much too happy with himself and only calmed down when you glared at him.

"Funny," you mumbled as you climbed over the tower. Van's hands hovered near your hips in case you fell.

"Sorry. They're gone though. Were you just waiting? What if I never came back?" he asked.

For a couple of seconds, you thought about it. "I just… Just knew you would, I guess?"

Van nodded, watching you with an expression that was probably the most serious you'd seen on his face since you'd met him. You wanted to see him in the proper light. It was easy to tell that he was beautiful, but you couldn't work out what type of beautiful. Was he a babe? Or was he cute? Somehow, maybe both? Did he have freckles or scars or acne or any other type of thing that would make him special and beautiful? His eyes were light, blue even in the darkness, but how blue were they? Sky blue? Deep ocean blue? Were there specks of brown or green in them?

"So, you ready to do this?" he asked, pointing out the door. You nodded, leaning over the tower to grab your bag, then following him out the door.

In the hallway, Van immediately sat down and lit a cigarette.

"You're staying?" you asked, stupidly. He obviously was.

"That okay?"

"Yeah. I just… might take a while. You seem like someone with a lot of cool… better things to do…" you replied.

"Oh God, love. I'm not cool at all. Don't let the band thing fool ya. Anyway. It's almost 4 in the morning on a Wednesday. And we ain't exactly in the city. And besides, this place is definitely fuckin' haunted. Don't want a ghost to get ya,"

"Who says it's haunted?" you asked him as you set up your cans.

"Nobody. Literally nobody I've ever talked to 'bout this fuckin' warehouse. All my mates just used to say it was 'cause I was doped up, you know? But even tonight, before when I was just standin' there. This place has always freaked me out,"

"Yet, you keep finding your way back to it," you commented.

As you began to paint, Van's head tilted and he watched carefully. He was close. It was dangerous. You stopped to grab another disposable face mask out for him. He chuckled.

"Wouldn't wanna inhale any chemicals," he said, dramatically sucking in on his smoke.

"Don't use it then. Whatever,"

"Nah. I will. Cover my teeth. It will be good," he replied.

You watched him struggle to make use of both cigarette and mask, then just turn away to continue painting.

"I think it's haunted too. Thought maybe since they turned it into this it would be better, but there's still something about it,"

"Well, why's the ghost just gotta spook us and nobody else?" Van asked in a whiny voice that made you laugh.

"I don't know. Maybe we're like, special. Sixth sense,"

"I saw that movie and I swear to God, I totally called that he was dead," Van said, suddenly very bouncy.

"No you didn't. Nobody did. It was the greatest twist ending ever," you replied, not looking back to give him the attention his voice was demanding.

"Nope. Ask Larry. He's my best mate. He'll tell you. I said it 'bout an hour in,"

"Okay. I'll ask Larry."

Van laughed, then fell silent as he watched you work.

There was a plan for the piece that night, but you were deprived of an hour and were gifted an audience. Both these things meant the plan had to change. But, as the first rays of sunshine found their way through windows, skylights, and cracks in the warehouse, the piece was coming together and coming alive.

Van had fallen asleep. He was gone for about an hour. When he sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching his back like a cat, he gasped the most pure and genuine sound you'd heard in a while. He stood up quickly and came to stand by your side. Staying silent, he waited to speak when he was sure you were finished. That moment was marked by all the paints going into your bag and you stepping back. He copied the step.

"Well, fuck me," he said.

There was a crocodile with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. The crocodile was dreaming. It was an acid trip of a dream. Haunted buildings. Torch lights. Best friends. Dope. Towers too big to climb. Spray paint. Guitars and limelight.

Easy your most abstract piece, you weren't entirely happy with the details and the finish, but the narrative was strong.

"Think they'll paint over it?" you asked Van.

"I hope to God not." He looked at you, mouth open a little. "You're fuckin' incredible. You know that, right? Like, you're really, really… good." You smiled and watched him take photos on your phone. He held it up to you, asking for permission. You nodded, and he went back to it. "Why the 'gator though?"

"They're my favourite animal. Crocodiles and alligators. Just… felt it,"

"Huh. Well. This is my favourite thing in the entire world, love,"

"Thanks."

You bit your lip as you watched him watch the art like it was going to move. The authenticity of his praise was a little breathtaking; you leant back on the wall and waited for him to be done.

After two minutes, which you timed on your phone, Van turned around.

"Didn't even know I liked art," he said. You laughed and shook your head. "So… Where to now?" he asked, picking your bag up off the floor and putting it over his shoulder. He began to walk off out into the bar.

Following, you replied, "What do you mean?"

"There's a place close that's open 24/7. Let's get some tea. And chips. Or pie." Skipping the storeroom you'd entered the building through, Van headed towards the fire exit. "Ready?"

"For what?"

"This," he said, pushing the door open. A shrill alarm came screaming to life.

Van took your hand and ran.


End file.
